


Through the Valley of Darkness

by infectedscrew



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Demon Hunters AU, M/M, Priest AU, Roy is a mess always, cursing, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Father Todd and a select few are given the job of finding and destroying Demons, Roy Harper is the only link they have to hunting them down.</p><p>(Note: On Hiatus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Dumpsters never made good back rests. While he’d never exactly pictured them to be the seventh heaven of comfort, he at least expected them to be slightly comfortable. Alas, Roy Harper was to be proven wrong as he slumped against the cold metal.

“Aah, fuck…” He groaned deeply.

The metal bit into his shoulder and his only concern was that it didn’t cut into his tattoo. He’d paid good money for it, he didn’t want to see it ruined.

Before he could get his feet back under him, the sky decided it would be a fantastic time to be a stereotype and unleashed buckets of rain upon his head. Shoving a hand through hair that badly needed a cut, he glowered up at the sky. Instead of being scared and turning back into the cloudy night it was supposed to be, it only spit in his eye.

“What is this?” He grumbled, silently admitting defeat and dropping the rest of the way to the dirty alley floor. “Some bad romance novel?” Resting his hands on his knees, he heard, more than felt, his head thumping back against the unforgiving dumpster. “Swear to God if some pathetic excuse of an angel shows up as my savior, I’m going to puke.”

“Well… That’s a rather stupid thing to swear for.”

Roy jerked. Had it been any other night, he would have just turned his head and glowered at the man interrupting his thoughts. Tonight, however, his entire body was running on the last waves of a hit and it was begging him for more. Plus, he really didn’t want to look up and see them again. He had been plagued enough by those spirits. He didn’t want to see them any more. They were the reason he was this messed up anyway.

“Who the hell are you?” He snapped more out of instinct than anything else.

The man standing above him only arched an eyebrow. “I’m Father Todd, priest of the church you’re currently hiding behind,” he sniffed, crossing his arms over a thick winter coat that Roy was so deeply envious of right now. “If you don’t mind getting up and walking to the front door of my church? It’s only ten feet that way.”

Some angel this guy was, Roy thought grumpily. Hardly romantic at all. Petulantly, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m content right here,” he stated.

Not giving much of a warning, Father Todd dipped down to glare him straight in the eye. “I’m not,” he answered. There was a pause as Roy felt like he was being x-rayed right down to his dirty, rotten soul. Slowly, the glare lessened to something completely undefinable. “You’re Roy.”

Roy blinked. Either the drugs were still fucking with his hearing or this strange, lame-ass excuse for a romance novel angel actually spoke his name. He frowned, randomly remembering that he hadn’t brushed his teeth since yesterday morning; which seemed highly inappropriate when meeting a man of the cloth.

“Uh… Yea, that’s me,” he finally answered intelligently.

The priest stared for a moment long before standing up. “It’s raining,” he stated. “Come into my church. I’ll help you.”

The was the night that changed Roy’s life. Whether it was for good or for bad, he hadn’t decided. Most of the time, he would shout about how horrible his life was now and blame anyone listening that it was their fault for not stopping him. In moments of solitude, however, he would mumble that his lift now was probably better than being a drug addict.


	2. [The Case of Timothy Drake]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy meets a new spirit but this one is different from the rest.

“Dad? Dad! No don’t–!”

Roy shifted on his cot. Voices were always a problem. A church in the middle of Gotham was bound to have them. But this voice… It was different. It made his heart clench in a way that couldn’t be blamed on Father Todd’s inability to make good soup. But, right now, at two in the morning, he really didn’t want to deal with it.

With a grumpy noise he rolled over.

“DAD!”

Fear shot through his heart and he sat bolt up right. And only one thought crossed his mind. “L-lian.?” He whispered. Harshly, he rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. It was dark and completely empty. For once not even the spirits were bothering him.

“Lian?” He called, louder this time. There was silence but that didn’t mean much for the world of the dead. He slid out of the bed, bare feet hitting the tile floor. The cold barely registered. That voice, he wasn’t sure, but it could be his daughter.

“Dad, please…”

With his heart pounding in his ears, he wrenched open the door. There was a pause as the silence pushed against his ear drums. “Lian, are you there?”

“Don’t!”

He moved quickly down the back halls of the old church. All those rules about never trusting a voice were forgotten. Jason’s annoyed voice stating all the dangers of the demonic world were shunted aside. There was a chance, however slight, that it was Lian. And he was going to follow the voice where it took him. Even if it led him to… The altar room.

“Lian?” He looked around. The lights dimly showed a grand church hall with vaulted ceilings and rows of pews that disappeared into darkness. He stepped out of the door, fingers pausing on the edge of the frame. The room was empty, not a single person, living or dead there to great him.

The clench in his heart changed to something much angrier. “Fucking voices,” he hissed, hand curling over the wood. His face shifted into a rather animalistic glare. He was sick of the noise, of the sights. A blessing? He wanted to spit on the next man who suggested such a thing.

“Hello?”

He stopped, throat tightening. Slowly, he looked around. His gaze landed on a boy hiding just on the edge of the light. He blinked, casting a quick check around again.

“Who are you?” He asks, finally letting go of the door and moving toward the intruder. The closer he got, the further he pulled away. Roy paused, lifting his hands. “I’m not gonna hurt ya. Just tell me your name.”

It was quiet and Roy was very sure that the boy’s image… Wavered. His eyes narrowed, slightly, those hunter instincts kicking into gear. The boy shifted and it was more of just a petulant movement than spiritual.

“Tim. My name is Tim,” he finally says.

And that was the moment Roy realized the voice wasn’t coming from the boy himself. It seemed to filter through the air, like the room itself was speaking to him. He sighed gently, annoyed that it had taken so long to realize what he was talking to.

“You’re dead aren’t you?” He deadpans.

Tim seems to flinch, his image fluctuating drastically and almost disappearing. “Yes.”

Roy lifted a hand to his nose, pinching it. Something crosses his mind and he looks back to the spirit. “How old are you?”

“I was sixteen,” he answers, shifting with the light.

Roy nods. “I shouldn’t be able to see you,” he admits. The spirits he normally dealt with were much younger. Closer to eight or nine. Never teenagers. There must be something about this spirit that was significant. If he believed in crap like fate, anyway.

“But you can,” Tim replies, evenly.

He nods again. He shoves a hand through his hair. “I can.” Slowly, he meets the spirits gaze, which was disturbingly solid and calm. “How did you die.”

For the first time, the young face shifts into something angry. “A demon,” he hisses.


End file.
